Don't Let Me Fall
by vexshipping
Summary: Stumbling across the brutal massacre of a human family, Bakura whimsically rescues the sole survivor, a man with a tireless vendetta against the killer of his clan. Two men, bound together by a mission to overcome the cruel hand that fate has dealt them, seek out their demons to fight with the strength that they've cultivated through each other. (Thiefshipping Vampire AU)
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** I told myself I wouldn't give in to the vampire AU... But alas... This will be the first fanfic I've written since 2012, actually! The idea for this story came to me during a five-hour bike ride and after noting all my ideas down later... Well, I decided it might be a good opportunity to try writing it! I'm really excited for this story to unravel- I've got big plans for it. This will be a pretty dark fic: gore, angst, death and interpersonal conflict, but among the darkness there's a bond forming between the couple-to-be... A dark romance I guess, lol. Since this is the first fic I've written in four years I might be a bit shaky, but I hope you all enjoy it anyway!

The smell of blood was unmistakable, fresh, wafting through the early morning air like an omen of death.

A ghastly pale man of tall and slender stature trailed in and out of the dangerous back alleys, the rhythmic tapping of each step on cobblestone serving as his only company. His fierce gaze was set forward, unshaken by the ominous stench as he hastily sought out its source— a scent this strong meant more than just a single victim. It was uncharacteristic of the man to concern himself with others, thus, something else drove him forward: the threatening aura that seeped through the fog, unnerving— hauntingly familiar.

By the time he'd tracked the smell to its source, the man found himself standing opposite one of the quaint little stone houses that littered the town. Aside from the stench, the only sign of disturbance was the door, left the slightest bit ajar, to reveal a slit of darkness creeping out from the inside.

Inwardly, he scolded himself for hesitating. He was _not_ fearful, and yet there was no denying the cautious steps taken, nor the slight shaking of each breath that slipped from dry lips. Had the perpetrator decided to linger...? The thick smell of blood had become so overwhelming, he could no longer tell, and as much as he wished he could deny his uneasiness, the reality of what he thought might be waiting inside was not something to ever be taken lightly.

The floorboards creaked with nerve-wracking volume beneath the man's feet, sending a shudder up his spine as he trailed through the darkness of the house. Upon entering the dining room, it didn't take more than a few seconds for his eyes to adjust with the aid of a single small window against the back wall. What the daylight illuminated, however, would have been most definitely better left in darkness.

Before him were three fresh human corpses, the bodies of what seemed to be two young adults, a girl and a boy, as well as an older man, though it was difficult to get a sense of their ages considering how horribly they'd been mutilated. By nature, he, too, was a killer- he was not above brutal acts, but even knowing his own hands were also stained in blood, the man still felt his stomach turn at the cruel sight of shredded flesh and torn-up visages, like the feral remains of a hunt of wild beasts, innards scattered all across the floor.

Turning disgustedly away from the brutal murder scene, he took in the rest of his surroundings, slightly less tense at the realization that the murderer was likely long gone. But the aura he'd felt earlier... There was no mistaking it. Could this really be _**his**_ work? He grimaced. The thought was incredibly unsettling.

Something else had soon caught the man's eye, a blood trail from this room to the next. Well, more than a trail, really, it looked as though someone had army-crawled across the floor with their chest ripped open- or else, a body had been dragged through here. Cautiously, he followed the trail into a bedroom, and there at his feet was a fourth body, face-down in its own blood. Could there be even more corpses strewn throughout the house?

As he turned to carry on his search, however, the sound of a quiet grunt caught the man's ear, and he hastily swung around, locks of white cascading down behind him. The fourth victim had begun to stir- or rather, the sole survivor.

Kneeling down beside him, a hand was shifted underneath his bloodied torso in order to carefully turn the human boy over.

"You're still alive," he muttered, stating the obvious, though it was unclear if those words would prove false at any given moment. The boy's eyes opened into slits, weakly meeting the stranger's, but within seconds his half-conscious expression had shifted drastically into one of fierce, unquestionable loathing. The man was taken aback, eyes widening at the sight. Seeing someone just barely clinging to life make a face like that- the anger in his glare was real, unwavering, deadly even. It was familiar, an expression that he knew to be one he, himself had certainly made before with just as much ferocity.

"...I'll... I'll... He..." The boy struggled to communicate, blood trailing from his lips, down his chin, and then a choked cough came, spewing scarlet all over himself.

"...Don't speak." The albino snapped back as he debated his next move. He ought to keep himself out of this, not become involved, but the look he'd just been given... He recognized the sense of his judgement having been affected. Something told him it wasn't time for this boy to die just yet.

The boy sputtered angrily as he was hoisted over the shoulder of his company, but no response was given to his poorly-vocalized objections. There was no real guarantee that the boy would even make it back with him- his injuries had the potential to be lethal, but the man supposed he had been lucky, considering the state of the rest of the victims.

Carefully stepping over the bodies, he headed for the door, a soft, strangled cry from the boy meeting his ear as they passed through the murder scene. It was probably his family lying there... How incredibly cruel the world could be.

Being out of that house was an incredible relief, but even so, he didn't give himself a chance to relax. Hastily, the man made his way home, grasping the boy with a tight grip, yet also careful as he could manage to avoid worsening his wounds.

"Don't let them take you," he hissed, picking up the pace. " _Bear_ it... just a bit longer."


	2. Chapter 2

With a sharp gasp, tired eyes shot open, and panic set in just as fast. The stench of blood and the memories of what he'd seen were still fresh, seeping back into his mind and lingering like talons dug deep, painfully, into his flesh. Unable to slow his labored breaths, within seconds he'd begun to hyperventilate, the desperate sound finally catching the attention of the man in the next room.

"-Deep breaths, Marik," he chided, intonation expressing an irritable disinterest, though his actions said otherwise, the man hurriedly returning to his side. "You'll open your wounds." Again, it was uncharacteristic of him to show any concern for a human boy he had nothing to do with, yet he'd already done this much for him just because of a silly whim. It wasn't necessarily worth the trouble, but he'd be damned if all his efforts to keep the boy alive would turn out to have been for naught.

It took a few minutes for Marik to calm down, breaths still catching abruptly in his throat as he attempted to speak. "...How do you… know my name...?"

"You told me earlier," the other stated, matter-of-factly.

"When...? I... Where am I?" First came a weak glance about the room, and then his gaze settled, distrusting, upon the unfamiliar face of his company. "Who are you?"

"...I'm Bakura."

It was the second time that day he'd given Marik his name. Upon initially reaching their destination, Bakura had set the boy down to try tending to his wounds, but shortly afterwards, Marik had angrily rejected his help, working himself up in his distress to the point of a panic attack and thus abruptly falling unconscious once again- but not before Bakura had managed to get a name from the other, in addition to providing his own.

Now, Marik winced in pain as he urged himself up into a seated position, turning to glare fiercely at Bakura. "...What is it you want?"

At this, the albino's expression darkened, a scowl overtaking his features. "Why is it you assume I want something from you? You ought to start showing me a bit of thanks."

" _Thanks_?!" Marik spat back, glowering at his company. "How about you go _fuck_ yourself!"

Finally, Bakura's irritation reached a boiling point, and his temper flared, evident as he smacked his hand against the first-aid container, scattering its contents all over the floor.

"The _only_ reason you're alive right now is because I _happened_ to find you at the brink of death," he snapped, glaring furiously at Marik. "I spent the day tending to your goddamned wounds, and I _assure_ you- had I chose to leave you in that state you'd have undoubtedly bled out." Getting to his feet with a dismissive scoff, Bakura spared the boy a final indignant glance before storming off without another word.

Damn it all. Marik inwardly cursed as his head hit the pillow. He supposed he did owe Bakura for saving his life, the thought sitting uneasy in his gut. Marik hated owing people anything at all, and to know he was so indebted to this ill-tempered stranger was nothing short of disconcerting. He gave a weak sigh, still desperately trying to push back the dreadful thoughts of what had just come to pass. Curling his legs closer to his chest, Marik simply begged for sleep. Never in his life had he felt so utterly defeated.

Three hours later, Bakura returned, carrying with him a loaf of bread and a few pieces of dried meat, all of which he'd stolen from merchants after leaving the house in his prior fit of anger. Really, humans were _intolerable_. He'd stooped low enough to help one, and not even a word of thanks had come back to him. Bakura was already reconsidering providing the boy with any additional care, though he'd first need a confirmation that the one who committed those crimes was indeed the same person Bakura had sensed prior, and for Marik to give him that information, he had to be both conscious and willing.

"Oi, wake up." After picking up the mess he'd made of the first-aid supplies, Bakura laid a cold hand on Marik's uninjured shoulder, giving it a light shake. A few moments later, the boy stirred from his sleep, initially dazed, but then came the inevitable panic as he shot upright and inched away from his company. At this, Bakura sighed, clearly exasperated by the same repeated reactions. "Here," he began, dropping the food beside him. "Make sure to eat everything."

The boy's scowl seemed to deepen at the gesture. "I don't eat meat," he muttered, reaching for the bread.

Bakura snorted loudly, as if in disbelief of Marik's objection. "In case you hadn't realized, you're still likely to _die_ in the next few days. You've been bleeding from the inside." His words were spoken as if talking to an imbecile. "I've no other food to give you. Eat that to regain your strength, or die because you're too picky to use your goddamned _brain_."

"Fuck you!" Marik furiously spat back, launching the bread across the room. "I never asked for your help!"

Something had finally snapped. Bakura suddenly lunged forward, drawing a knife from his jacket with inhuman speed and forcing it up against Marik's bandaged throat. "…Then, I'll kill you right here."

A flash of fear was evident on the boy's features. However, it didn't last, shifting to something both determined and enraged to have his life threatened a second time. Without warning, the sole of Marik's foot came up hard against Bakura's gut, catching him off guard and knocking him onto his back, thus providing Marik with a chance to get the upper hand. He lunged for the knife, snatching it away and straddling him before allowing the other an opportunity to retaliate.

"And what if I kill you first?" he smirked, boldly pressing the point of the blade into Bakura's chest to draw blood, a scarlet tinge gradually seeping through the cotton of his shirt.

Bakura was, quite honestly, a bit impressed, albeit rather irritated at Marik for being stupid enough to start a fight with injuries as serious as his. It wasn't like he'd _actually_ been planning to kill him, after all. All he'd wanted to do was shut him up, to put him in his place.

Before Marik could manage any attempt at carrying out his threat, however, Bakura locked his legs tightly around the boy's back and toppled him over just as fast, swapping their positions and snatching away his blade to hover its point right over Marik's heart. "Move an inch and you're dead," he hissed. He'd had just about enough of this. The smart thing to do now would be ending his life- surely the boy would be better off without the trauma anyway. The chance that he'd soon die from his injuries wasn't off the table either, especially now that Marik had chosen to ignore them in favor of satisfying his ego. Pensive, Bakura stared, trying to convince himself to lower his hand, and yet, the image of their first encounter simply wouldn't leave him alone. The aura he'd felt... the excessive brutality of the murder... the look Marik had given him... Again, it was impossible to shake the feeling of significance about it all.

Feeling a bit disappointed by his own unwillingness, Bakura eventually shifted off of him, getting to his feet and sheathing his knife with a look of tepid dissatisfaction. Perhaps it wasn't worth the trouble to keep this boy alive. However, he still needed him for information. From that point on, Bakura decided, he could choose what to do with him.

Sparing Marik a thoughtful glance, the albino scoffed and turned away as it was returned with a guarded scowl, proceeding to trail over to the loaf of bread that'd been previously launched across the room. "Eat," he commanded, tossing it back into his lap. And with that, Bakura didn't wait to take his leave.

 **AN:** Just a few notes about the vampires in this story:

▪ Vampires don't need to eat human food to survive. They can if they choose to, but it does nothing for them. Thus, Bakura isn't exaggerating when he says he has no food in his home.  
▪ They're stronger, faster and sharper than humans. The best way to overcome a vampire's advantages over a human is to catch them off guard- outsmart them and think ahead.  
▪ The only ways to kill a vampire are decapitation or a direct blow to the heart. These methods halt their regenerative abilities.  
▪ Weaker vampires, especially those turned from humans, are more strongly affected by the scent or sight of blood. Bakura is pure-blooded and therefore only finds himself coping with bloodlust after waiting too long to feed or being severely injured.  
▪ At their strongest, a vampire must feed three or four times a week. The longest a vampire can comfortably wait without feeding is one week, and the longest one can survive without feeding is a month. Bakura feeds no more than twice a week.  
▪ Over the centuries, vampires have adapted to sunlight and are able to roam about during the day, however, they are weakened to a potentially lethal point if targeted by a hunter or other vampires and are unable to use their abilities unless they remain in the shadows.

And a couple notes more:

▪ Marik is nineteen years old in this story. Bakura appears to be in his early-mid twenties, but has in fact been around for nearly a century.  
▪ The reason Bakura continuously refers to Marik as a boy is because, in his eyes, he is practically a child. Bakura _is_ about four times his age, after all.

That's all for now! Chapter 3 will be out soon! :D


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